


Wedding Pleasure

by enbycupcake



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Trans Anakin, Trans Character, Trans Padmé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10620138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycupcake/pseuds/enbycupcake
Summary: The two of them are married, and it's their wedding night. Kissing turns into something more in Padmé's room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's Dom/sub undertones; Padmé clearly is the lead here, and Anakin enjoys it and likes when she praises him. They have not, however, discussed this is in anyway at the time of this fic.
> 
> The conversation about shaving was brought about by me remembering Anakin's shirtless scene in RotS as him having no hair, thus implying he shaved. I went back to check, though, and he does have armpit hair. Oops.

Anakin sighs against Padmé’s lips before she pulls away. Her gaze is heavy, and he nervously smiles at her. They’ve been kissing since they’ve come inside, Artoo and Threepio long gone doing who knows what.

Anakin rests his forehead against his wife’s. Thinking it makes him giddy, warmth curling in his belly. They’re together now forever.

“I love you.”

“And I love you,” Padmé returns, her smile bright. 

Her hand in his hair pets him, and the one on his neck lets its thumb swipe his skin. Anakin closes his eyes in contentment. He feels more than hears Padmé’s amused laugh, her breath soft on his face. She captures his lips in yet another kiss when she finishes.

Anakin’s fingers tighten in response, and he thinks about guiding Padmé to lie down on the bed. He thinks about how she’d look under him, how her hair would halo under her head. He thinks about how he could try to learn how to please her, if she’d let him. The way her fingers might tighten in his hair, the way her mouth would either open in pleasure or her mouth would be pressed closed to keep her noises in.

Slowly, so very slowly, with butterflies in his stomach, Anakin starts to lean over Padmé. She picks up on what he’s trying to do and laughs against his mouth. The bed bounces under her dropping down onto it, and Anakin tumbles after her, immediately trying to put his lips back on hers. Her hands come up to cradle his face, Anakin’s bracketing her.

Anakin losses himself in the motions; it’s nice, so nice, to kiss like this. Padmé’s hands guide him to turn when she wants, and the little way the mattress dips every time he shifts his knees excites him. His fingers curl into the sheets, as tight as he can. He wants to touch his wife, but he doesn’t know where to start. He could touch her face again – he loves her face, her skin soft under his fingers and her muscles dancing under them as she smiles or laughs or kisses or says sweet things to him. Or he could touch her neck, he really likes when she touches his. He could –

“Ani. Come back to me.” 

Blinking his eyes open, Anakin shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about where to touch you.”

“And where was that?”

Her voice sounds…it sounds slightly sharper, more seductive. Anakin tugs on the sheets, arousal shooting through him. Padmé looks at him, patient, but her interest is as clear to him as her planet’s waters.

“Your face. I love how soft it is.” He brings his hand up to run his fingers along her face. Padmé’s smile up at him is amused, and one of her hands leave his chin to grab his wrist. “And then I thought about touching your neck. I love when you touch mine.”

Padmé tugs his hand to her neck, her pulse only slightly unsteady under his fingers. He wishes his own was like hers, but his heart is racing, nervous. “What do you like about it?”

“I don’t know.” He swallows. “I can feel you on my skin. I don’t have a lot of it exposed. I like the way you curl your fingers along my hair.”

Her pulse jumps under his touch. “You should grow it out when you’re knighted.”

“Yeah.” He tries to think of longer hair, of it tickling his ears and of Padmé’s fingers running through it. A little whine escapes him at the thought of it, unexpected. He really likes the thought of it, of the possibility of his wife’s fingers having more to tangle into and more to smooth down in softer intimate moments. 

Padmé’s laughter is loud, her thumb rubbing against his cheek. “I think you might like the idea more than I do, Ani.”

“It has…appeal.” He can feel the blush blooming.

“Oh, does it?” 

Her hand on his wrist tightens, but her other one goes to his hair. She grips it in a fist and pulls. Anakin feels himself melting. The pinpricks on his scalp feel nice; the way he has to arch his neck for Padmé makes him feel good.

Padmé’s gaze is the most lustful he’s seen yet when her hand loosens enough for him to bring his head back down to look at her again. She almost looks like she wants to eat him. Ducking his head, he presses his fingers against her pulse. It’s beating faster, her interest spiking it. Anakin wants to keep it there. He wants – he wants more.

Padmé pulls his head from his bashful position by his hair. It draws forth a moan, Anakin not expecting it. She brings him down to press a kiss to his forehead, then she grins up at him. Her hand on his wrist tugs him from her neck down to her collarbone. Anakin’s fingers caress it, her skin warm to his touch. Her body shudders at the sensation.

Anakin’s breath catches. He swirls his fingers, watching the way his wife sighs below him, enjoying the tightening of her hold on him. Padmé lets him drag his hand to her shoulder. Her skin there is slightly rougher, probably not moisturized regularly like her face. Anakin dances his fingers to the end of her wedding dress. He fiddles with the fabric, waiting for Padmé to give him a sign, any sign, if he can slip under it.

He’s yanked down for a kiss, Padmé claiming him. He opens his mouth happily for her, letting her guide him. He doesn’t really understand the appeal of having a tongue in his mouth, having it slide against his own, but he likes the way Padmé presses his head when she kisses like this, wanting more of him, the way Padmé’s face is so close to his, their breath mingling.

Padmé’s hold on his wrist disappears, her hand coming to rest on his waist. Her fingers slid to the front of his belt. Soon, she’s pulling it off of him; the sound of it getting thrown to the floor has Anakin moaning into her mouth. Encouraged, he slips his fingers under the shoulder of her dress. Her excited huff he swallows down, his stomach quivering. The bones of his wife’s shoulder are fascinating under fingers; he’s seen them plenty, Padmé’s dresses often held up by neckpieces instead of sleeves, but to touch them is nothing like it. It’s a privilege.

Pulling up, drawing away from his wife’s kiss and her skin is the most difficult thing Anakin thinks he’s ever done. But he wants to get out of his clothes; he wants to get Padmé out of her dress. Padmé tries to keep him right where he is, but Anakin is determined. He ignores her chasing his lips and her trying to use the grip she has on his hair to instead hover his face out of her reach.

Padmé’s eyes are hooded, her mouth a pretty red. Anakin has to swallow a few times before he can say say anything. “Can we– can we maybe get naked?”

He sounds so stupid. Anakin wants to hit himself; that wasn’t a sexy way to ask at all.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Padmé says, no judgement in her tone, her hand shifting to pet his hair before slipping down to rest by his knee.

Anakin sits up. His hands fly to his tabards resting on his shoulders to throw them off, and Padmé below him watches – she can’t take her dress off until he gets off of her. It makes him both self conscious and excited, having her attention on him. He’s never been naked with another person for pleasure.

His fingers slightly shake as he unwraps his tunics. Padmé rubs comforting circles on his knee, and she smiles encouraging up at him. Anakin shrugs his tunics off, his torso exposed. Padmé’s fingers grip at his knee. Her eyes roam over him, his chest and his stomach and his hips and back up again. When she meets his eyes, hers are almost black. It brings a flush to his face, and he fiddles at the waistband of his leggings.

Padmé’s hands slide up to help him take them off. When they get to his knees, Anakin laughs as he tumbles to the side of his wife to pull the leggings over his legs and feet. He should have thought of that, that he couldn’t get completely naked either while sitting over Padmé. She rolls over him, reversing their positions. Her smirk is enough to send a fresh wave of butterflies through his stomach.

Anakin fists the sheets as his wife brings her gaze down to look at him. She bites her lip as she takes in his hair and the little hint of labia Anakin knows she can see peaking out from under it.

“Well, haven’t you grown beautiful.” Padmé gets a wide smile. “For a Jedi.”

The words make Anakin flush in a context he was really hoping to avoid tonight. “Padmé.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ani. But really, you are beautiful.” Her hands come to rest on him but pull back at the last moment; Anakin whines. “I could look at you all night.”

“Please don’t.”

Padmé brings her arms up to pull off her wedding shawl. “Don’t worry; I want to fuck you more than I want to look at you tonight. You’re mine now, Anakin Skywalker.”

If he could purr, he would. Padmé calling him hers sends both warmth and arousal through him, the thought of being her husband all he could ever want. He loves her more than anything, and the affirmation of her love washes over him. Anakin doesn’t think he will ever get over it, will happily always light up for her acknowledging them.

His smile up at her is probably more dopey than the situation calls for, but Anakin can’t help it. Padmé loves him, and she’s gorgeous undressing above him. Her sleeves of her dress slip off her shoulders easily when Padmé tugs them, hair trapped in her beading coming along. She slips her arms through the sleeves, and the dress is gently pulled down past her breasts to her hips.

Anakin softly gasps at the sight of his wife, hands tightening against her sheets. Padmé looks at him, and he swallows. Her gaze sets him on fire with its intensity. Faster now, she rolls off of him and wiggles out of her dress. It gets tossed to the floor, a little clank signaling it made it down. Anakin doesn’t have time to worry about whether Padmé wants to get back on top of him now or if he can get back on top of her before she pulls him in for a kiss, guiding him above her.

Anakin closes his eyes. Padmé’s kissing him urgently, already asking for him to open his mouth to her and grabbing his hair. Emboldened, he brings his hand back to where it was before they undressed, the soft patch of skin between her collarbone and her shoulder. He lets his fingers drag along her skin as he heads down her body, nerves starting to pick back up. What if she doesn’t like how he touches her?

One of Padmé’s own hands mirrors the movement of his hand on his body. As Anakin dances his fingers down her sternum, her fingers do the same to him. They slide down and back up to come around to cup his breast, Padmé’s held loosely in his hand.

Padmé pulls his head up, spit connecting their mouths before it breaks and falls onto her face. It doesn’t seem to bother her. “Show me what you like?”

“Uh.” Anakin blinks down at his wife. “I don’t know?”

“You don’t know how you like your chest played with or you don’t know what you like in general?”

Anakin nervously licks his lips. “I…know how to quickly get myself off?”

Padmé swears in Naboo, but she pets at his hair gently to offset it. Anakin doesn’t know what to make of it. Confused, he waits until she responds.

“Well, do you know what you don’t like in bed?”

“I don’t like it to hurt?”

His wife closes her eyes at that one, taking a deep breath. Anakin wishes he knew what upset her; she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to get off on hurting others, so he doesn’t understand why she didn’t just nod or simply say okay.

“I’m going to flip us over, okay? We’re going to figure out what makes you tick in bed.”

Anakin shakes his head rapidly at that. “I want to do that with you. I want to pleasure you. Please.”

“And you’re going to do that after I make you orgasm, sweetheart. I do expect to come by the end of tonight, but let me.”

She’s never called him sweetheart before. Anakin’s heart beats faster; he likes having a name just for him from her. Rubbing his thumb along her breast, the last chance he’ll probably get for the near future, he nods his consent to his wife.

Pulling him down first to press a quick kiss on his lips, Padmé says thank you against him before hooking a leg over him to flip them over. Anakin’s back hits the mattress, bouncing slightly. His wife’s body hovers over him, her groin tantalizingly just above his abdomen. Padmé’s hair has flown in her face, and he curls some of it behind an ear and pushes the rest over her shoulders before settling his hands on her waist. The smile he gets has him curling his toes happily.

“Thank you, Ani.”

His own smile gets lost when Padmé runs her fingers over his neck. He moans, long and loud, when she rests her palm on his throat. Padmé doesn’t keep her hand there for more than it takes for him to quiet, picking it up to caress his face.

“Did you know that could make you moan like that?”

“No.”

She looks at him pointedly. Anakin wants to duck his head, but Padmé’s hand is there on his cheek. Her other one rests on his arm, a soft weight against his skin. “Do you want me to keep my hand on your neck, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please,” he says quietly. His pulse is surely going to be a hammer against her palm, his heart is beating so fast. Anakin sucks in a breath to try to ease his excitement.

It doesn’t work. The second his wife touches his throat, Anakin moans again. Padmé’s fingers curl against him in response. Her face is rapt, her attention focused solely on him. Anakin closes his eyes and tries to tilt his head further back against the mattress to press his neck against his wife more. Padmé presses down harder, for the briefest second, before settling back, her hand just resting on his skin and his pulse and his very life.

Anakin whines. Padmé kisses his lips as she cups his breast again; hesitantly, she gives him a squeeze. It feels uncomfortable. He doesn’t think he likes it, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s just because he’s never done it before.

Padmé’s fingers caress him, and he definitely enjoys that. He likes how the pleasure gets clearer the closer to the nipple his wife’s fingers are, how the sensation changes with the patterns she’s pressing into him at differing intensities. Anakin brings up a hand to copy on his other breast.

“Oh, that’s a good boy,” Padmé breathes out. 

Anakin sucks in a breath at the praise, though he doesn’t understand why him copying her prompted it. He does understand that wants her to say it again, and again, and again; he wants to please Padmé anyway he can so much it hurts.

Padmé’s breath hitches as Anakin tries to push up against her. His breast gets squeezed again, and, no, he really doesn’t like that. Pressing back against the mattress, he shakes his head. The squeezing stops.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

A kiss is pressed to his forehead in another apology, and the hand on his neck tightens. Anakin sighs happily, Padmé huffing amused in his face. Slowly, her fingers start drawing patterns on him again. Anakin focuses on his nipple while his wife circles his breast, little hitches of his breath filling the room. He wonders why he never took the time to play with himself like this, but shakes his head as the reasons why come back to him: it’s boring building up without a partner and worrying about being caught masturbating.

Padmé’s looking at him like he’s a banquet; it makes a flush come to his face and makes him feel good. He wants to slide his hand down to rub his dick, wants to see how she looks at him when he gives her what she wants from this, if she’ll make noise with him as he tips over. Whimpering, Anakin arches his neck and starts begging for Padmé to touch him more.

The pressure on his throat relaxes him slightly as Padmé pulls her focus away from his chest. Her fingers swirl over his ribs, tickle his stomach. Anakin feels himself shaking from the intimacy of it. Padmé shoots a worried glance at him, but he nods. He wants this, he thinks he’d die if she stopped touching him now.

Her nails lightly scratch at him, just enough to leave marks because of how dry his skin is. He pinches his nipple and tightens his fingers on Padmé’s waist. Padmé bites her lip, her hand skirting around back up his torso on his other side. When she makes it back to his breast, she happily tweaks his nipple, working her hand around his, to make him gasp.

Anakin grabs her wrist and tries to urge her downward. Padmé follows. Closing his eyes, he presses her palm down on his mound, his hair probably scratchy and uncomfortable, but he wants. The pressure doesn’t feel as good as he was hoping it would, but it’s still pleasurable. It doesn’t feel really arousing, but instead comforting, when Padmé starts petting him there.

“You’re so much hairier here than anywhere else. Do you shave your armpits?”

He nods his head, answering, “I don’t like it.” Pausing, Anakin opens his eyes and looks questioningly at his wife. “Would you like me to shave my pubic hair?”

“It’s your body, Ani. I don’t mind it.”

“But would you like it if I shaved?”

Padmé eases her hold on his throat to bring her hand up to cup his face. “If you wanted to shave, I’d like it because I like you. But I’m going to be pretty upset if you shave thinking I want you shaved.”

“Yes, Padmé.”

She looks really pleased with his response, and Anakin tilts his head to bring attention back to his neck. Padmé lets out a loud laugh at him. She gives him what he wants, though, her hand wrapping around his throat again. Anakin happily sighs and melts back against the bed. He lets his eyes close again.

The fingers playing with his pubic hair slide down to rub experimentally at his dick. Anakin jolts at the first touch, his fingers tightening maybe painfully around Padmé’s wrist. She doesn’t ask him to loosen his hold, instead focused on trying to figure out how to please him. He feels a pulse of new arousal at that, but he loosens his grip all the same. Anakin doesn’t want to hurt her.

Bringing the hand on Padmé’s waist down to try to relieve some of his wife’s own lust, Anakin bites his lip. His fingers make it as far down as her mound before Padmé tells him no.

“Ani. Have you orgasmed yet?”

He shakes his head.

“I told you I’m going to wait, sweetheart.”

Anakin pouts. “I just want to make you feel good, too.”

“And you are. Do you know how good I feel knowing that you’re letting me touch you, that you’re letting me give you pleasure?” Padmé presses on his throat and gives him a kiss, lips hard on his own. “It feels amazing that you’re trusting me like this, Ani. I love watching you shake under me and listening to you moan and whine. Let me finish making you feel good.”

Bringing his hand back up to his wife’s waist, Anakin nods. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” She kisses him again, her fingers rubbing his dick. “Can I finger your – can I touch below where I am now?”

Blushing at Padmé’s attempt to not make him uncomfortable, Anakin rubs his fingers against her skin. “Below my dick. My vagina.”

“Can I finger you there?”

“Yes.” Not meeting her eyes, Anakin continues, “you could also finger my ass.”

Padmé slows her touches. “Would you prefer me to finger you there, Ani?”

“Not if you have to stop touching me to get the lubricant.” 

“But in general, for future reference?”

“Most of the time.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, kissing his nose. 

Her fingers press against his dick, drawing a whine. Anakin quivers at the thought that soon she’ll be inside him, that she’s going to be the first and only person to touch him so intimately. He takes a deep breath. Padmé’s fingers slide down to run along his labia, her touch sending pleasure coursing through him. They’re pushed apart, and Anakin curls his fingers tight, so tight, to try to curb his excitement.

The first soft touch against his entrance has him keening. His wife’s breath comes hard against his face, her desire for him setting him alight. Anakin wants her now. Urging her on, his hand leaving her wrist to mingle his fingers with hers, he presses in. He has to bite his lip in response to Padmé swearing. Her lips collide with his, a harsh clank of teeth in its awkwardness, and she demands that he open up for her.

Anakin feels like he’s being consumed. The soft sounds of them working fingers in, his arousal evident amidst the symphony of their breathing, has him writhing. Padmé’s embrace on his throat brands him. He wants to tell her that he’s in sweet, sweet heaven because of her, but she wants him pliant against the sheets; he swallows his words down to instead keep moving his tongue, to follow her lead, to try not to be sloppy as the kiss drags on and on.

Padmé curls her fingers, and the sudden, overwhelming pleasure has him shooting up. He hears Padmé groaning behind the blood rushing in his ears, and a warm feeling curls in his gut. Settling back against the mattress after that is impossible. His wife’s fingers don’t increase in speed, but they curl against that spot again and again and again. Anakin’s never been so wet in his life, the soft squelching echoing as Padmé keeps going.

Bringing his own fingers against his dick, he cries out against his wife’s mouth. Her hand brushes up against his as she slides her fingers out. They quickly press back in, the hand against his throat increasing its pressure. Anakin shudders as his pleasure crests.

He thinks he misses some time because the next thing he’s aware of is the gentle kisses being placed over his face, Padmé’s lips slick with spit, and the barely there rubbing of her fingers against his walls. Anakin softly sighs, body spent and his heart finally not threatening to beat out of his ribcage. He basks in the care his wife’s giving him, soaking it in like a flower in the sun.

Lazily opening his eyes, he catches Padmé’s. He smiles happily at her. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Ani.”

“I love you, Padmé.”

Padmé laughs. “And I love you.”

Her fingers slide out of him, walking up his body to flick his nose, his wetness sticky on them. She then brings her hand from his neck to run through what she can of his hair as she presses her wet fingers against his lips. Opening his mouth, Anakin sucks them in. Padmé groans.

Tasting himself is strange. Anakin ignores it in favor of analyzing the feel of his wife’s fingers, the width of them and their texture and the weight as she pushes down on his tongue. He laps at her as she trails out on his lips, her heated gaze urging him on. Anakin could lose himself again if she keeps looking at him like that.

“Can I– could I use my mouth? On you? I orgasmed.” Anakin has to look up Naboo swears because Padmé does it again. He wants to know what she’s saying, just how much he’s excited her. “Please?”

“I’d love that, Ani.” 

Cupping her face, Anakin leans up to kiss her. It’s quick, Anakin pulling back to smile at his wife. She smiles back, the first hint of impatience of the night on her face. It brings another blush to his face. She’s been too nice to him, waiting so long for her own pleasure. Tucking a hand under one of Padmé’s legs, he rolls her onto the mattress. He likes being on top of her.

Padmé is beautiful under him, chest rising as she breathes. Her hands come up to his hair, and Anakin takes it as his cue that she’s ready. Bringing his mouth down to her neck, he presses kisses against her pulse. It jumps against his lips, faster than when it was his hand. Anakin takes a second to revel in her heartbeat against his lips, his wife’s excitement at his touch, before journeying down to her collarbone.

Her collarbone is hard below him. Anakin breathes in and then out, Padmé tightening her grip in his hair at the ghosting of air on her skin. He mouths at the little dip into her sternum. It tastes salty, the sweat of the day resting on her, a delicacy just for him to eat. Anakin happily sucks at Padmé, his eyes closing and the hands in his hair an anchor point as his world narrows down to just this.

Padmé lets him stay there for what seems like only moments before tugging his head away. Her skin glistens below his lips, the beginnings of a small bruise under his spit. Heat pools in his stomach – she has a hickey from him. Anakin wants to suck more onto Padmé’s skin, wants his marks all over her, a claim. He wants her to put hickeys on him.

Following the pull of his wife, Anakin trails his lips over a breast. He brings a hand up to the other one to copy what she did to his earlier, latching his mouth over a nipple. Squeezing his hand, he experimentally curls his tongue.

His head is pressed down harder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good boy.”

A whine escapes him. Anakin loves her telling him he’s doing good; he wants her to keep calling him a good boy, to not stop. Sucking hard, he looks up at Padmé. Her face is flushed, her lips slightly parted. She’s watching him intently. The attention makes him drop his eyes. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, and he pulls his focus back onto pleasing her.

Moving his mouth to the juncture of where her breast meets her ribs, Anakin trails his fingers to her nipple. Padmé arches under him when he tentatively tries using his teeth on her skin to bring forth a hickey instead of sucking. Anakin watches the heaving of her chest as she settles back on the bed in awe, wondering if it was the way he touched her nipple or his teeth or both that got the reaction.

Bringing his mouth back against his wife’s skin, Anakin presses a kiss before using his teeth again to see. The grip in his hair gets tight, and the sound of Padmé sighing ring in his ears. Encouraged by her reaction, Anakin bites down.

He’s abruptly pulled off, a quick “ow” alerting him that that was a mistake. Before he can say anything, Padmé’s shaking her head. “Sweetheart, you don’t finish the bite that hard for hickeys. Stick with what you were doing just before that and sucking.”

“I’m sorry, Padmé.”

“It’s fine, Ani. You didn’t know.” She pulls him up to press a kiss to his forehead and then his lips. “Now you do.”

Nodding, Anakin takes comfort in the way Padmé’s being gentle with him; he should have known better. Steeling himself, he starts back on his wife’s neck, his lips pressing against her skin. He won’t mess up this time.

“Anakin.”

He looks up, confused.

“I love how dedicated you are to making me feel good, but I’d like to get off. Your bite didn’t hurt that much, Ani.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Scrambling down Padmé’s body, he worries over settling where he left or going further down to immediately get her off. Anakin wants to touch and explore every inch of her, but he wants to please her more, and she said she wants to get off. He wants to be her good boy. Looking at Padmé for guidance, Anakin feels immense relief when she tugs his head and guides him where she wants him. He’s led past her breasts to below her navel.

Giving her stomach multiple relieved kisses, Anakin’s hands flutter down to rest on his wife’s hips. He sucks at her skin for a moment before gently scrapping his teeth against her. He’s rewarded with the fingers in his hair digging into his scalp. Happy at the approval, Anakin pulls her into his mouth hard.

The skin’s a pretty pink when he pulls off, the beginnings of a hickey. A pleased warmth settles in his gut at the sight. Another mark from him on her, another symbol that she’s his and she loves him, another mark that shows she trusts him enough to touch her. Smiling, he mouths down from the bruise to start towards her crotch.

Padmé’s hairless, and he can see all of her when he pulls his face up to gaze upon her. Her clit peaks out from it’s hood, the teeniest bit, and her labia are unsymmetrical. Her scars are faded, slightly pale compared to her rich skin. Anakin has to suck in a breath; here, like everywhere else, Padmé is beautiful.

Tilting his head back down to press his lips on her, Anakin sighs at the sensation of Padmé eagerly tugging his hair. He brings a hand rub her labia as he curls his tongue around her hood. The smell of her is strong here, and Anakin inhales it. He could lose himself here. A rough whine escapes his wife as he trails tongue again, and Anakin moans. He wants to hear more of her pleasure, wants to please her, wants to get her off. Trembling, he presses his tongue to the clit itself.

Padmé lets him play with it for a few moments before pulling him down. “Switch your mouth and your hand, sweetheart.”

Nodding against her, Anakin dips his head. Her wetness, as little as there is, tastes better than his own. He loves it, the privilege of getting to taste it, that he can get her wet. Rubbing around his wife’s clit, Anakin slides his tongue between the inner labia, close to Padmé’s entrance. The sounds of her pleasure echo in the room, her breathing heavy as he works and her knuckles surely whitening from how strong her grip is. 

Padmé jackknifes when he slides his finger over her clit. Anakin happily follows her hips as they raise and then fall back against the bed. His wife’s legs come up, knees above his head, Padmé trying to heighten her pleasure. Heat pools in his own crotch at being so boxed in, at being at her mercy. Trying to accommodate her silent request, Anakin tries to speed up his tongue and slow his circles around Padmé’s clit.

His head is pressed impossibly closer. It makes it harder to keep pleasuring her, but Anakin will be damned if he tries to pull away or say anything. Padmé’s not doing it to be mean, and he’s so close, so very close, to getting her to climax. She’s trembling under him; Anakin can feel her pleasure in the Force, it leaking from her since she’s never had the training to shield as a non-Force sensitive. He wonders briefly how much louder it could get the more practice he has at this.

Padmé’s orgasm is quick. She tenses against him, one more push against his skull, breath catching, before collapsing against the mattress. Unlike himself, she doesn’t go into a haze, her hands unclenching to pet at his hair while her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Anakin feels accomplished, his heart light at his wife’s pleasure, proud despite himself at getting her off. Gazing up at Padmé from between her legs, Anakin feels a swelling of affection sweep over him.

Climbing back up to place his face over his wife’s, Anakin gives her a smile. She’s so beautiful, and he gets her all to himself. She has him all to herself. Pressing a kiss to Padmé’s forehead, Anakin brings a hand up to place it over her heart, feeling it settle down.

“Thank you.”

Padmé laughs, fingers lightly scratching his scalp. “I should be the one thanking you, Ani. I’m the one who orgasmed.”

“I liked that.”

“What, me orgasming? Or how you got me to do it?”

Resting his forehead on hers, Anakin happily answers, “Both. I liked both. A lot.”

“Do you need to get off again?”

“I don’t want to. Can we spoon?”

She tucks hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering. “Of course we can, Ani. Do you want to be the little spoon or the big one?”

“The big one? Please.”

Guiding him off of her, Padmé scoots up towards the head of the bed, placing her hair out of the way under her shoulder against the sheets. Anakin watches her as she moves, all fluid grace still, before following after her once she stills. He noses along her ear and brings his arm over her stomach, curling the rest of his body around her smaller one. The embrace is warm. Feeling Padmé breathing against him, the hum she gives him in approval, has him feeling contented and safe. Pressing a kiss to her ear, he settles his head on the top of hers, rubbing against her soft hair.

He doesn’t think he could have asked for a better wedding night, burrowed against his wife in her bed. Overjoyed, he squeezes her slightly. “I love you so much, Padmé.”

“I know, Ani. I love you the same.”


End file.
